


Still On Your Feet

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt, 'Briar thought he'd left his life of crime behind him when Niko had brought him to Winding Circle, but was this really crime? How could it be a crime if it was saving lives?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still On Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinstralpride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinstralpride/gifts).



> Emelan characters belong to Tammy Pierce.
> 
> I wrote this for the 2013 fic war on Tumblr, completed it just in time on the 21st of December, and then promptly managed to somehow not post it.
> 
> Beta credit to Lisa (bounce).
> 
> * * *

Briar’s heart was thumping fit to burst clean out of his chest. Nobody was watching him – everyone was far too busy hurrying to their own destinations, masked and gloved and eyes cast down as though simply not looking other people in the face could be enough to guard against infection.

They were calling this one “Black Smudge”, it had an unreasonably high death rate, and he’d been arrogant enough to think that this time, _this_ time, he and his friends would be passed over. Surely Rosethorn was enough: one time pays for all.

Well, he was wrong. And the proof of his stupidity was lying in her old room at Discipline, where she was like as not to breathe her last if he didn’t get the cure to her.

Daja and Sandry were safely at home at Cheeseman Street; Lark and Rosethorn had been out on the road instead of at Winding Circle when the outbreak had occurred. It was just him, Tris, and a couple of youngsters who were Discipline’s current students. Both of _them_ were fine enough, although complaining heartily about being confined to their rooms while he got to run about and do things.

If they or anyone else had any idea what he was doing right now... he shifted his grip on the vial in his hand very slightly and prayed to anyone who was listening that Crane was as good without Rosethorn at identifying cures.

Briar could hear Tris’s whooping breaths five paces from the front door and had to force himself to walk slowly and not drop the vial.

He knew that the healers would have come to Discipline... eventually. They knew full well how to assess situations and give help where it was most needed and most useful. But with the sheer number of people who were infected, he’d simply been unable to wait and see when they would get to the little house.

Not when it was one of the circle.

“Briar, you’re back. Did you bring food?” Vix called from behind the door of her downstairs room.

Briar smacked his forehead – remembering at the last second to do it with the hand not clutching the vial. He _had_ gone out for food. Then he’d heard the ragged cheer from the workroom, and just... well, even he wasn’t sure how he’d slipped in and out without attracting more than a glance of Crane’s attention, but as soon as he’d ascertained which vials contained the completed cure one had been up his sleeve and he was walking back out the door.

“Just a minute,” he called back, ignoring the torrent of curses Vix let loose in his direction. He went up the stairs quietly, but didn’t escape notice from Dakan. The usually shy boy was peering out of his room, being bold at exactly the wrong time. Briar waved him back and waited until the door closed before continuing to Tris’s room.

She was lying on her back, eyes staring glassily at the ceiling, and for a moment he feared he had come too late. Then he saw the slow rise and fall of her chest and knew that she was still alive.

“Coppercurls,” he whispered, dropping into the chair beside the bed and reaching out for her hand. “Can you hear me?”

Her head turned slowly on the pillow and she blinked. “Briar?” Her voice was rusty. Briar hastily reached for the jug of water on the nightstand and poured her a cup. It was too easy to lift her into a sitting position; she was lighter than she used to be, thanks to the Smudge. He held the cup to her lips and helped her sip carefully.

“I have the cure,” he said after she’d taken five sips, enough to clear her mouth and throat a little.

Tris’s eyes widened. “Already?”

“Crane doesn’t know I nicked it.”

“Briar...”

“Sssh.” He pulled the vial out from his pocket and uncorked it. It smelt of berries and summer, he thought, although that might have just been fanciful imaginings compared to the feverish smell of the sickroom.

He held it to Tris’s lips, his other arm around her shoulders, and tilted it, letting the liquid run into her mouth. She drank it down greedily.

“Delicious.” Her voice was a little less rusty. “Crane’s outdone himself this time.”

Briar couldn’t hold himself back from throwing both arms around her, squeezing her until Tris started coughing, a harsh, barking cough that made him jump back in surprise. She gagged, and Briar snatched up a cloth from the nightstand and held it to her mouth as she spat up revolting clots of mucus. Although Tris was heaving with the solid coughs, Briar could still see the dark smudges on the sides of her throat fading rapidly, as if erased from her skin.

“Sorry,” she choked between spitting.

“It’s all right.” Briar rubbed circles on her back with his other hand.

“Is she dying?”

Briar’s head snapped around at the quiet voice from the doorway. Dakan was the one who had spoken, but Vix was right behind him, uncharacteristically quiet.

“No. No, she’s not dying, and nobody else will now either.” It seemed only fair to say it considering that the cure had worked, despite the rather disgusting fashion in which it had done so. The kids deserved some reassurance after being cooped up in the house for almost two weeks.

“Can we go outside?” Vix asked at that very moment.

Briar considered this. “Not to the rest of the temple, no. But you can go into the garden, or up on the roof.” If Crane or someone came to tell him off for stealing the cure they’d doubtless scold him – or worse – for letting the kids out, but he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

Not to mention that it would get them out of his hair.

The two of them bolted along the passageway, bound for who knew where. Briar didn’t care, as long as they didn’t break anything. He was far more concerned with Tris. She had stopped coughing, and her cheeks, which had turned an alarming red as she coughed, were fading back to their normal colour. Briar dropped the washcloth into the bucket he’d been using for contaminated face masks.

“How do you feel now?”

“Wrung out.” Tris’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “I need a wash.”

“You need to sleep,” Briar said firmly. “Good, deep sleep.”

“Wash,” Tris insisted. “I’m sick of sleeping, and I smell like Little Bear when he’s been rolling in the mud.”

Briar privately thought that she smelled of no such thing – a little sweat and sickness, maybe, but not the distinctive stench of wet dog – but said nothing, instead settling her back against her pillows. “I’ll go and get some water.”

“I can get up,” Tris protested.

“No, you can’t.” Briar put a firm hand on her shoulder when she tried, holding her down. “I’ll bring water and soap, you stay here.”

“You’re not washing me.”

Briar raised an eyebrow. “You’re not washing yourself, either,” he retorted. “You’re too weak.”

A spark leaped from one of Tris’s braids, still tightly woven despite all the tossing and turning that she had been doing. Briar shook his head and left the room.

* * *

When he returned Tris was sitting halfway up, the pillows plumped behind her. She gave him a defiant look. Briar just rolled his eyes at her and brought the steaming water tub over to place it on the floor beside the bed. He had a bundle of clean washcloths tucked under his arm and draped those over the back of the chair, before going back to close and bolt the door. Vix and Dakan were probably safely occupied elsewhere – he’d been able to hear them talking on the roof – but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Tris clutched half-heartedly at the bedclothes as he drew them down off her, but made no real effort to protest. She was dressed in a light nightgown – and nothing else, as he discovered when he unbuttoned it. It was all she’d been wearing for days now; she’d been lucid enough to use the chamberpot and, to tell the truth, he’d been a little afraid to try to change her clothes, in case he disrupted her enough to make her even more unwell.

Bottom line, he was no healer, and he’d gone about it the wrong way, despite all he’d thought he’d learned. He was determined to make it right, though.

“I wish you’d let me do it,” Tris said, closing her eyes and attempting to cross her arms over her chest as Briar pulled the nightgown down and off her, tossing it in the general direction of the corner.

“Are you afraid I don’t know anything about bathing?” He sat down on the chair beside the bed, privately glad to be off his feet.

“I just don’t like people seeing me like this.”

Briar picked up a washcloth and dipped it into the hot water, rubbing a ball of goat’s milk and linseed soap over it, working up a light lather. “You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before,” he said. He lifted one of her arms and started working his way along it from fingertips to wrist to elbow, soaping with one end of the cloth and drying with the other.

Tris sighed and let her other arm fall away from her chest. She had lost some weight in her illness but her breasts were still full, pale and lightly dotted with freckles across the tops. Her nipples were light brown and pebbled into little peaks as Briar’s gaze crossed them. His eyes met Tris’s and she flushed and looked away.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said petulantly.

Briar shrugged. “It only matters if you think it matters.” He was up to her shoulder now, despite going slowly and gently, and he could see the hard look in her eyes. He was half-tempted to lighten the moment by dropping the washcloth on her face, but knew there was a good chance she’d take it the wrong way.

Instead he leaned over her just enough to start on her right arm, carefully tending to each finger before moving onto her palm. Tris huffed a sigh; when he slid his eyes sideways to look at her she had closed her eyes and settled her head back against the fluffed-up pillows.

“It’s nice,” she admitted quietly.

Briar said nothing, but kept going along her arm, turning it carefully to reach every bit of skin. It wasn’t as needful as getting the rest of her body clean, maybe, but considering her uncharacteristic shyness it was better to start small and work his way up.

Once he reached her shoulder he dampened the cloth again, wrung it out well, and touched it to Tris’s forehead. Her eyes remained closed, but Briar knew that she wasn’t asleep. He wiped down her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, and ran a light finger over her lips to check that they weren’t too cracked. There was beeswax balm beside the bed that she’d been using; her mouth was soft, her lips parting slightly at his touch. A soft, “Mmmm,” escaped her throat. Briar lifted an eyebrow and did it again, with the ball of his thumb, and Tris’s tongue darted out to follow it, almost licking him in the process.

“Tickles,” she protested, and Briar grinned and took his hand away.

He skipped over her torso for the time being, scooting sideways and sitting on the foot of the bed. When he touched the sole of her left foot she kicked at him, but without any real malice, and he took the hint and left her feet alone.

Tris had a scattering of fine pale hair on her calves and thighs, a contrast to his own darkly-haired legs. She had clearly never taken to the fashion of removing any of her body hair with wax or a blade the way that some women did. Briar rather liked it. He ran his hand from her ankle to her knee and Tris shivered.

“Cold?” Briar asked, knowing the answer even as he spoke.

Tris cracked just one eyelid open and glared at him; it was still surprisingly effective nonetheless. “You know I’m not.”

Considering the faint pink blush across her cheeks and nose and even down across her chest, he definitely did know that she wasn’t. Briar refrained from commenting and got on with washing her legs. Tris shifted her thighs apart as he made his way up, but he couldn’t read her expression; her eyes were still shut.

Briar moved up as far as he dared and then skipped to her stomach, moving the washcloth in circles from just below her breasts to just above the soft red curls between her legs. Tris’s breathing quickened every time he got particularly close to one or the other. At last he gave up the pretence of just washing her and moved his cloth-covered hand onto her right breast, rolling his palm over her nipple, and Tris let out a sigh that, while soft, still managed to convey a sense of impatience.

He could sense her power coiled up in her hair. With the next slow circle over her breast a spark snapped from one of her smaller braids, hitting his shoulder. Briar jumped and Tris laughed and opened her eyes. They were dancing grey and made him think of the way thunder rolled, sometimes soft and distant,  sometimes booming right overheard. For the moment the storm was still just on the horizon.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he said a little unnecessarily.

Tris smiled lazily.  ”Keep doing that and you’ll find out.”

Briar had no intention of stopping. He ran the cloth down the curve of her breast, over to the other side, very aware of her eyes on him. He could feel the comfortingly steady beat of her heart, the regular, blessedly normal rise and fall of her chest with every breath, and knew that she was truly healed. Crane was no doubt going to be furious when he discovered what Briar had done, but right here and now it was worth any punishment that could possibly be devised.

Dampening the cloth again, Briar drew in a deep breath and touched it to Tris’s thigh. She was watching him calmly, but her breathing quickened as he slid the cloth closer to her centre. It stopped altogether with a gasp when his fingers made contact, imprecise as it was considering the padding between his fingertips and her sensitive skin.

“I doubt this comes up in Healer training,” he said, hand just resting against her.

Tris drew in a slow, deep breath, clearly relishing the fact that she could do so without coughing, and said, “If you don’t do something with that hand you’re going to lose it.”

Briar grinned at her, taking the hint, and whisked the cloth away, curving his fingers against her. She was hotter than he had expected, almost feverishly so, and only the look on her face when he attempted to remove his hand stopped him from backing off in concern. She was just a little wet from the washcloth but as he moved his fingers – dipping down to her entrance and then stroking back up to the hard little nub that made her wriggle when he touched it – it gave way to her own natural wetness. He brought his hand to his mouth, tasting, and Tris let out a rather delightful whimper.

“You are _terrible_.”

“I’ve only just started,” Briar replied, sliding two fingers deep into her, and Tris’s hips arched right off the bed.

“ _Briar_...”

His thumb pressed tight against her clitoris, and Tris stopped doing anything but gasping for breath and bucking under his hand. Briar put his other hand flat on her hip, pinning her down gently but effectively, and Tris bit down on one of the knuckles of her right hand, rolling her eyes toward the door.

“They’re outside, they won’t hear,” Briar said, or at least tried to say. He was somewhat interrupted by a whipcrack of thunder that was almost directly overhead, and twin screams from Vix and Dakan, up on the roof.

Tris took her hand out of her mouth and mumbled, “Sorry.”

Briar raised an eyebrow. “I assume you can’t help it.”

Tris just shook her head.

“Well.” Briar considered this. “It’s been a dry summer,” he said eventually. “The gardens could use the rain. Just try not to hail everywhere. It damages the plants.”

“Get _on_ with it, or there’s going to be a drought.” The direction of Tris’s gaze left Briar in no doubt as to the fact that she was not referring to a dry spell in the weather outdoors.

Leaning over her instead of settling between her thighs brought his mouth to her at a different angle than he’d become accustomed to with other lovers but, judging from the torrent of low whimpers and whispers that flowed from her mouth, Tris wasn’t overly concerned. Briar experimented with a number of different swirls and licks and touches until Tris’s hips were riding off the bed and his name fell from her lips like the howl of the wind.

“Again?” he asked, lifting his head for a moment, crooking two fingers inside her, and the snap of another spark from her hair to his cheek was answer enough.

* * *

The thing about Tris was that once she got an idea in her head, there was no stopping her. Briar had barely settled back in the chair, intending to let her take a few minutes to get her breath and then – well, he hadn’t thought much beyond that – when she was pushing up off the pillows.

“Tris, no.”

“If you honestly think I’m too weak after _that_ , Briar Moss, you’re a fool.” She stood over him for a moment and Briar half lifted his hands to touch her, and then she was astride his lap, hovering. “You’re smart enough to know this will work better if you take your trousers off, I assume.”

“You’re in the way.”

“No, I’m not.” Her smile was dangerous.

His hands worked the drawstring on his trousers, his knuckles and the backs of his hands brushing against her, sometimes accidentally, mostly deliberately. He only needed to wriggle his trousers down far enough to free himself before Tris stopped him with a hand on his thigh.

Then–

Briar wouldn’t have known she’d been sick for days, not if he’d just walked in out of the blue and had this happen. On the other hand, if this had happened out of the blue, he probably would have died of shock. He wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t die of shock anyway.

Tris sank down onto him, thighs tight either side of his, and he slipped into her readily, biting his lip at the sensation of soft heat. Tris licked at his lip where he’d bitten it, and they shared a long kiss; Briar rather had the feeling that she was trying to capture the taste of herself off his lips and tongue.

Then she started moving, and he stopped thinking.

“Oh. Oh, gods.”

“You sound like you’ve never done this before.” Tris’s tone was teasing. She plucked at his shirt buttons, getting her hands on his bare skin, and Briar arched up against her.

“Should have heard yourself before.”

She drove down hard against him, and Briar lost the power of speech as well. He pressed his lips against her shoulder and then dragged his mouth down to take one hard nipple in, sucking softly. He felt rather than heard Tris’s moan.

 _Shouldn’t you be taking time for yourself?_ he asked as she quickened her pace.

 _Don’t worry about me. You took good care of me._ Tris’s eyes drifted closed as she moved on him. _This is nice..._

 _Mmmm_ , Briar agreed, leaning back a little. giving her more room to move. His hands roved over her body, and every squirm and wriggle pushed him closer to the edge. _Oh, Tris..._

 _Do that with your nails again._ Her cheeks were pink and Briar rather thought that, despite her assurances that he’d already done well for her, she wasn’t far off a third climax. He drew his fingernails lightly down her back, pressing in a little harder at the base of her spine, and Tris shivered. As if confirming his suspicions, there was another crack of thunder overhead. _Briar..._

For a time, then, even their mind voices broke down into sighs. Soft. She was softer than he would have expected, soft with desire, rather than snappish. When Briar felt himself getting close he dipped one hand between Tris’s thighs and pressed his thumb in just above where they were joined, and he _felt_ her go tight around him, and suddenly rediscovered his vocal cords in time to cry out her name, his mouth pressed tightly against her shoulder, lest anyone hear them.

It belatedly occurred to him that perhaps it should feel wrong to want someone he considered a sister so very badly, but then Tris put a finger under his chin, tilted his head back, and kissed him thoroughly, and Briar forgot all about it.

* * *

The rain had settled to a gentle shower outside. Vix and Dakan had left the roof for somewhere drier, but as they hadn’t come anywhere near Tris’s room, Briar didn’t care. He lay  beside Tris, one arm tucked under her shoulders, the sheet half draped over her as a vague concession to modesty. He still had his shirt on. Sort of.

“This had better not be another fever dream,” Tris said, her breath ghosting across his chest.

“It isn’t.” Briar stroked an errant curl back from her face, not minding the tingle it delivered to his fingers.

“Where do we go from here?”

A loud knock sounded from downstairs. Briar jerked away from her, making a dive for his trousers.

“I guess first I see who that is and what they want.” He had the feeling that he knew, but whatever punishment Crane could devise would be meaningless after this.

Tris pulled the sheet up higher. “Come back soon.”

Briar leaned down and kissed her square on the lips. “Oh, I will.”

And that, it seemed, was all that she needed to hear.


End file.
